True love is unrequited.

A Brief Statement of Purpose.

I don't believe in the idea that one person can change the world. As a kid being raised in the suburbs of Detroit, I never had a chance to meet any celebrities, any of the people whose books I had read or whose faces I had seen on the covers of magazines in the grocery store. No one came to visit the plain, industrial cities that cover the flat surface of the state of Michigan, and- at least it seemed to me- no one ever came from there either. Nelson Mandela was from South Africa, Mother Teresa worked with the poor children of other countries, and everyone important from the United States seemed to either live in California or New York City. I was worlds away from these people, and I learned to live with the fact that I would never be one of them.

While getting my Bachelor's Degree in Michigan's capital city, I took to spending any school break I could abroad. I went as far as my feet and backpack would take me, and I looked for the shadows of the heroes I grew up worshiping. I traveled to Africa, viewing the prison that held Nelson Mandela. I walked through the gravestones of so many revered men and women at Westminster Abbey and saw glimpses of their lives.

I don't believe in the idea that one person can change the world- and I learned that through my travels. I saw the prison that held Nelson Mandela for years, and met many other men who were involved in the same struggle- held in the same prison. I visited friends in Hungary for a month and was welcomed with open arms by the most generous family I've ever met. In all of the countries and cities I traveled to, I learned more and more that it is not the person that makes the difference- it is the community, the people who live their lives day-to-day without the recognition that they deserve.

It was this realization that drives my desire to teach- and learn. I want to meet these people- the ones who aren't on magazine covers- because I think they can teach me much more than any author or professor, and I want to teach English so that we have a greater opportunity to learn from one another. I don't believe that one person can change the world, but I'll never let that stop me from trying.

It's the Global Economy, Stupid.

Having just submitted my application to teach English in Taiwan, I want to discuss the myriad questions have been plaguing me since I began considering the position.

1). Is it right to bring English to other cultures? This question has been floating around for ages, really since conquest began its long and bloody history. These days, teaching the predominant world language to other cultures has many apparent positives for the non-majority culture; however, it still seems to have its drawbacks. The question of colonialism has no doubt changed in the past century, but its remnants are still felt throughout the world, in so many ways. So does the assumed boost in global economical activity for the culture outweigh the negatives of global assimilation? It's a question for the ages.

And the second question:
How will I fare in the culture? Having been raised in the suburbs of Detroit from the age of four, I wonder how I will respond to the Asian culture. Detroit, even for its post-industrial, run-down beauty, is essentially the loneliest crowded place in the world. Everyone passes each other daily, but with hulking masses of metal blocking any sort of socialization aside from work and school. We are THE motor city, and Detroiters are worse for it. So in crowded Asian streets, with less emphasis on having a car in every driveway, where will a socially-impaired Midwestern girl fit?

Another Piece of My Heart.

This place sucks.

It is in the early morning, when the sun still kisses the blue waves at the horizon, that the city of Cancun betrays itself- giving away its true character. While the rich tourists snore, wrapped in their Egyptian Cotton white sheets and sleeping off their tequila hangovers, the true residents of the city are out in the streets, preparing for another day in paradise. Waiting for the bus, walking through the gated communities to find their cleaning carts, the true nature of the city is written on their weary faces. Men nap on cardboard boxes just outside of a construction site, waiting for the time when they can turn on the machines, and taxi drivers idle around their cars disinterestedly, ready for the first fare of the day.
____________________________

I feel like I've been reborn into a world that I never had any interest in, so I never learned how to navigate it. New fears in things I've never even noticed before, and new understandings. One must live the life of a scoundrel to enjoy it as a saint, and of that I am now sure. I was so lost in shallow beauty that I nearly drown, but saved just in time to realize that nothing really matters at all.

It's official- the pang of wanderlust that hit me on Saturday has widened into a full-fledged case of itchy feet.

___________________________________________


Lately, I've become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus...

Things have come to that.

And now, each night I count the stars.
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.

Nobody sings anymore.

And then last night I tiptoed up
To my daughter's room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there...
Only she on her knees, peeking into

Her own clasped hands

-LeRoi Jones (Amiri Baraka)

If My Life Were a Movie, I'd Probably Go and See It.

I was raised as a media baby. I grew up watching television, comparing myself to Punky Brewster and Rainbow Brite; I envied the Cookie Monster and his never-ending supply of chocolate chip cookies. My family watched movie after movie, and as I grew older I envied the strong characters and their whirlwind lives more and more.

To love like Sleeping Beauty, to live like Easy Rider, my adolescence was dull and boring compared to that of any television or movie character. Surely my long hours spent watching TV or the time I spent idly doing homework would never merit my own plot line- I was purely a 'viewer', watching life pass all around me, with no hopes of ever being an 'actor.'

Movie-style fade to the next scene- cut to my college years. Life was nothing like Saved By The Bell: The College Years; my hopes of discovering that I was a long-lost princess of some country I can barely pronounce had faded, and I'd come to terms with the fact that I was a boring Midwesterner just like everyone else at my college.

I cannot in good conscience say that I've completely dealt with that realization and moved on with my life. It is still a daily struggle to remind myself that- if they were real- the characters in all of my favorite movies, from Young Frankenstein to Pulp Fiction, would lead a dull second-life as well. They would take hours primping to look as good as many of them do and they would stare in the bathroom mirror reminding themselves to be strong; they would struggle, just like the rest of us.

With that in mind, I like to look back at my life as if it were a movie. I often think that my movie would be much more interesting than most movies that come out these days- not as shallow as Bring It On, not as dull as Sideways. My life would be full of great epiphanies, full of great loves, and- most of all- full of adventure. I may not be a pirate of the Caribbean, but hell, who is?

Untitled Play

Act I, Scene One- A dark, stuffy room, curtains down.

"Are you dead yet?" He turned to the man next to him and posed the odd question.
"Not sure." Was the nonchalant reply. "I feel like I've been dead for years now- smothered by the stuffy smell of an old ex-lover, or maybe I just died of boredom one day a while ago. All's I know is that this ain't livin, Charlie. So if I'm not dead, I'm sure as shit dyin'."
"Sometimes I wonder if it was really me livin my life all those years. You know what I mean Charlie? Mebbe I dreamed it all up, or switched bodies with someone else. I feel like I went to sleep one day twenty years ago and forgot to wake up. Didn't set the alarm. So here I sit today, Charlie... here we sit. Some days I think about ending it, for good Charlie. But there's something... somethin deep down that still feels alive in me. It stops me, makes me want to go on bein me for a little while longer. Mebbe someday I'll figure it out- be a new man..."
"We're old men, Charlie- ain't got time left for noneathat."

Act II, Scene One- It's not really a play.

"Charlie... CHARLIE." The door swung open, and the harsh neon hallway light hummed its way into the dark room. Two figures entered also- a man and a woman- both pausing near the door.

"He wasn't always like this, you know. And Charlie... well, he's a little senile." She smiled blankly, hiding a fear that she held deep inside of her- the fear that she saw manifested in these two old men, sitting in the stuffy old room with crimson curtains.

The man acknowledged her with a slight nod, and trotted over to the windows, drawing the heavy curtains back to allow the late-afternoon sun to enter. Charlie started a bit as the light hit his face, but did not respond when the man turned and asked, "HOW ARE YOU FEELING TODAY?"

"He doesn't speak much," she stated, almost apologetically. "You'll have to learn to understand his signals. He's usually a pretty easygoing patient; he only eats at meal times and doesn't really leave his room. The only thing you'll really need to know is when he needs to use the bathroom."

He nodded, looking into the glossy eyes of the old man. "I'm PAYTON." he nearly yelled, searching the old grey eyes for some sign of recognition.

"You don't have to shout. He can hear quite well. Ever since his wife, Jean, died, however, he really just gave up on talking... He gave up on everything."

Act I, Scene Two.

"Boy, Charlie, of all the pretty nurses in this place, you get the one named Payton," he chuckled slightly.

"Dontcha know it. Ain't that jes my luck, though, Charlie. Ain't that jes my luck."

They sat quietly for a moment, with the light still highlighting their wrinkled faces. The winter sun was setting fast now, changing the colors in the room from yellow to orange to red until eventually settling upon a heavy grey.

"Well." He turned slighly, looking the other man directly in the eye as if waiting for an answer to a question that was never asked.

Charlie stood up and crept over to the flood of light coming in from the hall, catching a glimpse of 'Wheel of Fortune' on the television in the common room as he shut the door as quietly as possible. "Well?"

"Should we tell him?" He asked, with such a spark of excitement that he was almost unrecognizable to the other.

"I dunno, Charlie, old man," Charlie's voice trembled.